Innocence - Outtakes from Edward's POV
by Elise de Sallier
Summary: These are the scenes from the first half of the story, Innocence, that were removed when the story was edited for publication. They are fun! They also give lots of interesting insight into the minds of a cynical, entitled, but eventually smitten noble gentleman. ;)
1. Chapter 1

**Outtake - First Sighting (Aligns with Innocence Chapter 4 - The Lordships)**

EPOV

My mounts powerful haunches bunching beneath him, as he prepared to launch us over the massive log that had fallen across the path. After he cleared it with room to spare, I nodded in satisfaction; the eighteen-hand black Percheron stallion was worth every guinea I'd paid.

"You've found yourself another ripe one, by the looks," my good friend and fellow connoisseur of horseflesh, Lord Jasper Whitlock, called to me as he slowed his chestnut Thoroughbred to a trot. He, my cousin, and a mutual friend of ours, Peter Edgeley, had taken a slightly easier route through the section of forest, meeting me on the edge of the field closest to Worthington Hall.

"Edward's got the devil's own luck when it comes to choosing cattle," Emmett groused good-naturedly, his big bay gelding prancing sideways even after a long and tiring run.

Luck had nothing to do with it, which my cousin well knew, but he liked to needle me whenever possible. It was a leftover from our youth spent competing for my father's—his uncle's—approval and affection.

"Oh, come on, Em," Jasper spoke up in my defense, not that I was concerned. "Edward knows his bloodlines and has an excellent eye for quality. That's how he finds his champions and why he breeds the best hunters in the country."

Conversing more easily now that we'd slowed our mounts to a walk on our final approach to the stables, Jasper addressed me directly. "Have you bred from the black, yet?"

Nodding, I enjoyed the feel of the horse in questions' long, easy stride. "I've a foal from Sabre and Summer's Folly due anytime now, plus a couple more expected to drop over the next month or two. I'm hoping to breed him with that racer I purchased from Cudmore last winter."

"Speed and strength," Jasper acknowledged, his tone admiring. "You certainly know your stuff, Edward. No wonder you've got them lining up, bags of doss in hand, for whichever foals you can bare part with."

"What do you expect?" Emmett grumbled. "He spent more time in the stables than the schoolroom as a boy . . . yet he still aced every exam. Knows more about horseflesh, breeding cycles, and fertility than the blasted stable master!"

Emmett's complaint drew a smile to my lips, my face stretched by the unfamiliar expression. I hadn't felt inclined to smile of late, and God only knew the last time I had laughed. But now that my father and his new bride had left for their honeymoon on the continent, I hoped to regain the equilibrium I'd lost these last months. It wasn't that I resented my father's newfound happiness; I just couldn't comprehend it, the unaccustomed perplexity not sitting well with me.

Did he not remember the long, dismal years of his marriage to my mother? Her passing, some three years earlier, while publicly lamented with all the appropriate pomp and circumstance required for a grand Duchess, had been met privately with a sad level of indifference. Not even my truly kindhearted younger sister could own to more than a moderate level of distress. Shunned by the self-absorbed and cold-blooded lady who'd birthed us, we had struggled to grieve for the woman who had been mother to us in name only.

But what else was one to expect from a true lady of the nobility? "The bluer the blood, the colder the heart," I'd heard muttered by the servants on more than one occasion in my youth . . . but only when they were dealing with my mother. My father was universally admired. My mother was not, well, not by the staff and servants. _Thank God for nannies_ had been my private conclusion. Alice and my raising had been left in the capable hands of a genuinely good woman of lowly birth but majestic spirit, and we would undoubtedly grieve her eventual passing . . . in all sincerity.

Of course, I understood why my father had married my mother. It was an excellent match with impeccable bloodlines on both sides reaching all the way back to William the Conqueror. The alliance had increased the wealth and standing of both families and, most importantly, was applauded and approved by royalty. The fact that my honorable, considerate father and my grasping, vainglorious mother had absolutely nothing in common, other than a duty to provide the required 'heir and a spare' to the Duchy of Worthington, played little part in the matter.

After my birth, the true state of my parents' match became increasingly obvious with them choosing to live as separate lives as possible. It was to be five years before my mother agreed, albeit reluctantly, to attempt the production of the 'spare.' Alice's birth was a great disappointment to her, and she had refused point blank to endure such indignities ever again. Whether her words had referred to the birth or the conception was not made clear, but the outcome was the same. The marriage was over in all but appearance, and Alice was banished to the nursery to rarely be seen again.

How I had adored my new baby sister . . . and still did.

Alice was now almost eighteen and due to be presented to court during the coming season. While it was frustrating to be spending this time overseeing my father's primary estate and not have Alice in residence, I had appreciated the wisdom in my father's arranging for her to spend time with—and be properly chaperoned by—our Aunt Penelope while he and Lady Esme were abroad. We were all well aware of the tendre she had developed for Jasper. Not that they wouldn't make an excellent match…on paper. While it was obvious that the attraction Alice felt for my undoubtedly handsome and titled friend was mutual, I would need to see a considerable change in Jasper's behavior before I entrusted him with the care of my sister. There was no denying that he was a renowned rake, and he did not seem in any hurry to settle down to the responsibility of his position.

This would not normally have bothered me in the least, as I was similarly inclined and had only fairly recently begun to settle to the weighty responsibilities of my position in life. But Alice was my sister and an utter conundrum as far as I was concerned. She did not fit the mold of the typically coldhearted, social climbing, and empty-headed young heiresses I had grown accustomed to. Her differences: intelligence, sensibility, humour, compassion, and a truly delightful joie de vive would have been applauded in a young man. But I was quietly concerned they would cause grave problems for my sister in relation to her coming to terms with her place in life. Regardless, I greatly admired those differences, and I would do whatever it took to see that she was kept from harm.

If only there was another young woman of nobility like my sister to be found, I would have married her in an instant . . . well, after the required due process, and considering my position and titles, only with the blessing of the crown. But, I was well aware that Alice was unique. I'd spent three god-awful years being pestered by the marriage making mamas of the upper _ton_ and their equally awful daughters. The experience had cured me of the delusion that I might find a wife who fit all the necessary requirements for the role of my marchioness and duchess in waiting, and who I could also respect, admire and maybe even come to . . . love. The young ladies who did meet the stringent requirements for marriage to a Marquess, one in direct line to the throne, were all as coldblooded as they were 'blue.' Like my mother.

I could always handle things the way my father had done, I supposed: marry for duty and keep a mistress for pleasure, making very sure that the two were kept entirely separate and both equally cognizant of their place. But he had dispensed with his mistresses years earlier and now professed to have married for love! While on the surface, Lady Esme did appear to be somewhat different from the typical matrons of the _ton,_ I didn't buy it. I had learned my lessons well. When it came to bloodlines, the females of my class were almost universally characterized by the same traits: coldness, self-interest, greed, and an utter indifference toward those less fortunate than themselves. Excellent qualities to be saddled with in one's wife.

Entering the stable yard, I shook off my miserable musings and handed the reins over to a waiting groomsman. After a few words of instruction, I dismounted and waited for my compatriots to finish their languid discussion of the merits of varying brands of hunting rifle. My mind had already transferred to the veritable mountain of work that awaited me post ride. While I had willingly agreed to oversee my father's estates in his absence—the renovations being conducted on my own country seat a good incentive to vacate for a while—keeping track of the many and varied aspects to the multiple properties involved was no small task.

A glint of light caught my eye, and I looked up to see movement in a first story window overlooking the courtyard. For a moment, the mid-afternoon light reflecting off the window obscured my vision, but then the heavy gray cloud cover once again blocked the sun. That's when I saw her . . . a girl more beautiful than any I had seen before, whether in the country, town, or at court. Her skin was fashionably pale but without the sickly look that often accompanied such pallor. She exuded a healthy vitality with blush pink cheeks and rosebud lips of a slightly darker hue. What little I could see of her hair, framing her exquisite, heart-shaped face, was a rich auburn. At this distance, I could not accurately discern her eye color other than to know that they appeared to be framed by long lashes that made her wide-eyed gaze even more dramatic.

She didn't seem real, more like something out of a dream, and yet I felt a flash of recognition. Although I knew we couldn't have been introduced, or I would have made enquiries of her name, station, and father's interest in an alliance immediately. If I _had_ to be saddled to a coldhearted noblewoman or aristocrat for a wife, please God, let her at least look like this one!

Then my gaze widened, and I took in the clothing she was wearing and that I had somehow missed at first glance, so taken was I by the girls preternatural beauty. The girl wore a stiff necked white blouse, plain black skirt, and white cap that partially covered her hair. Disappointment and unexpected anger coursed through me, and I rubbed my brow, turning abruptly away from her taunting gaze.

She was a servant and completely off limits.

~I-O~

 **Oooh! I'd forgotten how much we got to know and understand Edward from these scenes. Why did I let the publishers take them out?**

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

 **xx Elise**


	2. Honourable (The Breakfast Scene)

**I'm glad you're enjoying reading these scenes from Edward's pov. Having learned a bit more since this was originally written, I try to avoid writing the same scene from two different perspectives. But we certainly get some insight into Edward's character and motivation with this one.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~I~**

 **Honourable - (The 'breakfast scene' from Edward's POV)**

My disposition, which had been barely agreeable for some time, was sorely affected by the brief encounter—if one could even call it that—with the girl in the window. After a mostly sleepless night, I was counting on a good breakfast and a long ride to improve my mood. I am sure my companions and house guests had similar hopes for an upturn in my attitude and demeanour. My surliness had been remarked upon more than once the previous evening, as I had been a rather poor host during dinner and could not bring myself to enter into the nightly games and entertainments.

Politely enduring the inane chatter of my father's house guests, or the ill-disguised and simpering flirtations of their eligible daughters, was beyond me with the mystery girl's hauntingly beautiful face etched permanently in my memory.

Mystery _servant,_ I reminded myself for the umpteenth time, which meant that the girl was unsuitable for dalliance and deserving only of the protection my father would expect me to provide in his absence. Not that I disagreed with his edict or the beliefs that he had come to hold so dearly. Wilberforce's impassioned speeches had touched even my hardened soul, and I understood my father's determination to see the abolishment of slavery and the establishment of basic rights for the working classes. But still . . . I could not get the damned girl out of my mind.

My hopes for distraction were dashed almost as soon as I entered the breakfast dining room, when I looked up and saw the object of my new found obsession standing meekly by the wall. She looked, for all the world, like a timid young maid and not the bold woman with the taunting expression that had so thoroughly captured my attention the day before.

"You," I accused, my tone and expression fuelled by my aggravation at the peace of mind—and _sleep—_ that the young chit had cost me.

The girl's eyes widened, and she stepped back, a rosy coloured blush staining her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, but not before I saw that her eyes were brown, a deep, warm brown the colour of a fine brandy. Then, as was proper, she bobbed a curtsey. Frozen in place, I stood waiting for her to look up so that I could see those stunning, doe-like eyes once more. To my consternation, she was even more beautiful than I recalled now that I could see her clearly, standing not ten feet away and without the glass panes of a window to obscure my view. She also had the most damnable effect on my person, one that was physical . . . visceral . . . and intensely arousing.

"Quit scowling at the new girl, Edward."

Emmett's words brought me to my senses, just as I was about to move towards her, inexorably drawn like a moth to a flame. "She can't help being a beauty, and you know you can't touch. Stop torturing yourself and eat."

"Bloody hell," I muttered, embarrassed to be caught so transfixed. "Do you have to be so blunt?"

In a desperate attempt to regain my equilibrium, I allowed myself to be drawn into some rather crude jesting with my typically astute cousin. Of course, he would notice my interest and the girl's extraordinary appeal. I wasn't overly bothered. As long as neither he nor Jasper were exercised to action due to their recognition of her charm and I maintained my distance, the girl would be safe, and I would recover from my uncharacteristic loss of control.

Unfortunately, my control was not yet recovered, and I found myself insisting that the new girl serve my coffee. She looked as shocked as I felt at my having issued the order, and I scowled at her, infuriated by the inexplicable attraction that I couldn't seem to ignore. But then she approached, shaking so badly by the time she placed the rattling tray before me that I knew there was no way in hell I was letting her pour a hot beverage anywhere near my person . . . or hers for that matter. The thought of her smooth, creamy skin marred by a burn was quite frankly, unacceptable.

"I think you'd best let me pour," I murmured, stunned by my reaction to this unknown girl who looked to be little more than a child. She couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen at the most. "I don't fancy having my vital equipment scalded this early in the day."

Her eyes met mine, and I was momentarily captivated by her warm, chocolate coloured gaze. Breathing in deeply, I drew her sweet scent into my lungs—one way to have her where I wanted—closer than my own skin. The thought, and the sudden image of her laying naked beneath me, her mahogany hair spread out like a silken shawl against white linen sheets, triggered a surge of pure lust to roar like fire through my veins. She went to pull away, but I held her hand in place.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that! I mean I'd try not to," she said, her soft creamy cheeks suffusing with a vermilion glow. "Maybe it would be best if you poured. I can be a bit clumsy, especially when I'm nervous, and just as likely to spill the contents in your lap as get any in the cup . . . um . . . my lord," she stammered.

I stared at her, stunned by her innocently spoken words. Then laughter burst from my lips, as a surprising jolt of humour replaced the lust that I was battling to contain. She was adorable, sweet, and quite funny . . . unintentionally I was sure. When my laughter waned, I was pleased to note her shy smile, her timidity no act. That, along with her unexpectedly refined speech and the silky smoothness of the skin I could feel beneath my hand, created an even greater aura of mystery around this lovely girl. What was her story? How had she come to this place of servitude, clearly so far beneath the circumstances in which she must have been raised?

Knowing that my actions disturbed the sensibilities of my father's butler, I left my questions unanswered—there would be time to make my discoveries later—and assisted the girl to pour the hot coffee into my cup. I was not ignorant, nor in denial of the fact that doing so gave me an excuse to keep touching her for a few seconds longer.

The rest of breakfast passed in a fashion similar to any other. I barely took note of the topics of conversation, except for one concerning an acquaintance of mine, James Hunter. It seemed he'd gotten himself into an interesting situation, one that I was sure he would see resolved to his satisfaction. If there was one thing to be said about James, it was that he was a survivor with an uncanny instinct for getting his own way.

Despite recognizing the futility of my interest, the girl took up most of my awareness. Not that I had any intention of acting on my desires, or of ever speaking to her again. But then Barclay, an odious man who was only granted acceptance in my father's circle of acquaintance due to his connections at court, made his way towards the girl. His intentions were neither respectable nor hidden.

In a move designed to distract, I flattered his ego with an invitation to join us on our ride. Determined to protect the girl from any further unwanted advances, I ordered her reassignment away from public duty. One consequence of my action would be to rob myself of the pleasure of daily viewing her visage, and a part of me wanted to growl in impotent rage at the loss. But after allowing myself one last moment to memorize every aspect of her delicate, arresting face, and slender, yet curvaceous figure, I strode from the room.

As my father was want to say, doing the right—the _honourable—_ thing, was rarely the easiest.

 **~I~**

 **Gosh, I'm tempted to rework these and add them into the published ebook on Amazon!**

 **xx Elise**


	3. Discomposed

**Discomposed - (Outtake of Chapter 6 - Bellissima)**

EPOV

My original intention was to forget about the girl altogether, but that was simply not possible. She plagued my thoughts both waking and sleeping. Determined to stay away, I lasted seven days. Seven very long days.

Surreptitious questioning of my valet revealed that the girl was new to the Hall. When he'd offered to learn more about her, I had begged off, feigning disinterest. I was in no doubt that he saw straight through my ruse, but Jenkins was nothing if not discreet, and he made no comment when the next morning I casually requested he determine the girl's whereabouts. It was hardly uncommon for a lord to change his mind, though I was not normally in the habit of doing so.

Once the decision was made, I impatiently awaited the time when I could see her again. For that, I needed to know when she would be working alone—and where—information that Jenkins delivered promptly as expected.

Approaching her from behind, I chose not to announce my presence but held back, wanting a moment to study the girl unobserved. She was quickly becoming an obsession, and while I could not deny her beauty, it was not enough to explain the attraction. Or so I told myself. Watching her slender form move with innate grace, her delicate hands arranging a large bouquet of flowers—with surprising ineptitude—I was captivated. When she began to mutter under her breath, no doubt berating her lack of skill in the art of floral arrangements, I decided it was time to step forward and put her out of her misery.

"I think they usually put the tallest ones at the back and work forward . . . or something like that," I offered, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.

She spun toward me, and I was rewarded by a clear view of her truly lovely face.

Her cupid's bow lips parted in surprise. "Oh! My Lord, you startled me," she cried, her tone remarkably indignant for a servant.

Having seriously discomposed her with my presence, and unable to resist teasing her . . . just a little, it took several attempts for me to ascertain her name. It was Bella.

How apt? I thought, lapsing into Italian to verbalize the compliment that I wasn't free to give. Her eyes widened, as if she were reacting to my words.

"You speak Italian?" I asked, nonplussed by the possibility.

My receiving an answer to one of the questions I had regarding this girl—her name—had raised many others. Although she denied knowledge of the foreign language, her speech and demeanour struck me as belonging to one with a much higher education than was normally afforded a member of the servant classes. But I did not query her further. Our time together would undoubtedly be brief, so I would leave acquiring answers to my questions for another occasion. There was something about this girl that curbed my typical impatience, as I found myself wanting to simply savour the opportunity to enjoy her presence . . . drinking her in with my eyes, as the poets would say.

Then I recalled one of the purposes of my engineering this encounter, to ascertain her reaction to my having had her reassigned from working in the breakfast room. I was expecting gratitude, fervently hoping she wasn't annoyed that I had prevented a dalliance, if one could call it that, with the reprehensible Barclay. What I hadn't expected was her feisty indignation at my implied criticism of her work.

"So, you were offended," I mused, though, thankfully, not for the reason I had feared.

Modifying her tone, she proceeded to apologise, thanking me for saving her from having committed a far greater faux pas than the ones she'd already committed that memorable morn.

"Ah, Bella," I said with a sigh. "You misunderstood. I wasn't concerned about your ability to serve the coffee. I am sure you're aware of my father's unusual standards concerning the treatment of his staff?"

Running my fingers over the satiny smooth finish of the side-table, I found myself imagining it was her silky-looking skin. With that, the desire I'd held barely in check this past week, roared to life full blown. With my sudden arousal straining against my trousers, I angled my body so that she would not see the effect she had on me, as I suspected she might be embarrassed. There was something about this girl . . . an aura of innocence that my honour demanded I should protect.

The sobering realisation cooled my ardour—a fraction.

"We are not like others of our class," I explained, proceeding to inform her of the reasons why she need not fear me, reminding myself in the process.

Her lashes fluttered endearingly, as she shyly asked if I followed my father's creed.

"As much as I can," I agreed, inexplicably drawn towards her despite the content of and intention behind my words. I approached her cautiously, as she watched me, her expression reminding me of a startled fawn.

"I try my best to honour my father's wishes, Bella, especially in his own home. Although my efforts sometimes come at _personal_ cost."

If she knew the pain my self-imposed restraint was causing me, this most beautiful of girls would have realized that my words were an almost comical understatement. Unable to resist, I reached up and ran my forefinger down her blushing cheek.

A shudder ran through me. Her skin was just as I had imagined . . . soft . . . silk . . . perfection.

Her pupils dilated at my touch, and I swayed toward her. With my intentions unknown but suspected, my gaze fell to her soft, plump lower lip. I focused, in particular, on the place where it glistened from a darting foray made by her tongue. I wanted to touch my own tongue to that very spot, and no doubt would have, considering that I seemed to have lost all reason and control, but Rosalie arrived. Her untimely interruption dragged me back to my senses. My intentions refocused immediately on one thing and one thing only . . . protecting Bella from my cousin-in-law's vicious attentions.

I was not successful, and my apology to Bella, while heartfelt, echoed hollowly in my ears.

How the hell was I supposed to protect this sweet girl from Rosalie's machinations when she fell under the woman's purview as interim head of the household?

Surprised, I assumed, by the oddity of receiving an apology from one of my standing—the chances of her having experienced such an occurrence at her previous place of employment was slim to say the least—Bella stared at me, wide eyed. Then she smiled, and for a fleeting moment, my thoughts took on a decidedly poetical cast, as I compared the stunning vision before me to sunsets, sunrises . . . the sun, no less! Then my mind went blank, the unusual occurrence accompanied by the oddest sensation, as if the hallway had begun to slowly rotate. It was then I realized , along with all rational thought, the blood had drained from my head as my body required it . . . elsewhere.

Unable to ignore such a compelling siren call, I was about to move towards her once more. But the lovely girl, who had managed to disturb my normally unflappable composure at every encounter, dropped her head, bobbed a quick courtesy, turned and ran. Watching her flee, I was left to the dubious companionship of the twin voices of my outraged conscience, appalled at how close I had come to dishonouring both the girl and my father's standards, and the infuriated howling of my thwarted desire.

 **~I~**

 **My goodness! Lordward is a tad over dramatic and a little on the 'flowery side' with his internal musings, but I am finding him fun. I hope you are, too. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	4. Chapter 4

**Not Her! (Outtake from Edward's POV for Chapter 7 - The Hunt.)**

I was expecting Rosalie to make trouble, so I tried to keep abreast of events amongst the servants. But it was difficult without making my interest in Bella publicly known. Jenkins kept his ear to the ground, but he heard nothing of great import other than the unsurprising news that the 'new girl' had a number of young footmen, kitchen-hands and a groomsman or two, all vying for her attention. One could hardly blame them. I was pleased to hear that she had, so far, done nothing to encourage any one individual. Although that didn't stop some of the young braggarts from making empty boasts. At least, I hoped they were empty.

The morning of the hunt, I was so busy with arrangements and issuing orders to make sure the event ran smoothly, thoughts of the girl's safety were pushed to the back of my mind—though not banished entirely. Upon sighting Rosalie on horseback a short time before we were due to head out after the hounds, I let my guard down, falsely assuming that any threat to Bella would be suspended with Rosalie's occupation. I couldn't have been more wrong. If I'd been atop Sabre, I could have gotten to Bella's side more quickly, but I had dismounted while my groom made a last minute adjustment to a fetlock bandage. When I saw Bella outside, unsuitably attired for the early morning chill and carrying an obviously heavy tray out amongst the horses and their riders, my heart lodged in my throat.

I ran, shoving man and horse aside, desperately trying to attract her attention. Catching her eye, I called for her to stop and go back to the safety of the perimeter. But Rosalie saw my approach and reissued her command. What happened next was the stuff of nightmares, unfolding before me as if in slow motion.

Lady Kendleton's big bay, as obstreperous as its owner, bit the horse being ridden inexpertly by one of the Misses Winthrop. Her grey gelding reared, spinning away from its attacker . . . and right into Bella. The tray she was holding went flying, and I lost sight of her in the ensuing melee.

"No!" I shouted, forcing my way through the crowd, the words _Not her!_ screaming in my mind. Closing in on the unfolding catastrophe, I glimpsed Bella's crumpled form lying on the ground. She was at imminent threat of being trampled, as the incompetent riders struggled to move their now frantic beasts out of the way.

Just missing a vicious kick by one panicked animal, and ducking under the flying hooves of another, I dove for Bella. She'd had the presence of mind to make herself as small a target as possible. I covered her with my body, my relief so great I barely felt the hoof that landed heavily on my thigh, though I imagined I would be made aware of it later. As quickly as possible, I dragged Bella to safety and then cradled her in my arms.

"It's all right; you're safe now. Open your eyes, Bella . . . please," I pleaded, ignoring the calls and queries of the guests and servants who had come running.

Bella's long, dark lashes fluttered open, and to my relief, I saw recognition in her eyes.

"You saved me," she murmured.

Disregarding my audience, I pulled her into a tight embrace, exceedingly grateful that I'd reached her in time. She had been hurt, a fact that infuriated me, but not too badly, I hoped.

Lifting a slender, shaking hand to the gash on her forehead, she then brought it before her eyes which widened and then rolled back in her head.

"Bella . . . Bella look at me!" I ordered, attempting to forestall another dangerous loss of consciousness. She obeyed me, and her beautiful brown eyes, clouded by shock, focused on my face.

"But . . . but there's _blood!"_ she cried _,_ her indignant reaction drawing a relieved chuckle from my lips.

I did my best to reassure her that all would be well. Then I lifted her into my arms, ignoring the now-throbbing pain in my thigh, and held her tight. I savoured the feel of her slender form as she clung to me: vulnerable, injured, and in pain. She was a servant of the lowest class yet somehow very dear. My conscience—my _honour—_ demanded that I protect this mysterious, contradictory girl. By working in my father's household, she came under his protection _—and mine—_ from vindictive ladies of so-called nobility, from accident, and, if necessary, from myself.

In no mood to placate my cousin-in-law or to protect her from public scrutiny, I did not hold back in my condemnation of Rosalie's behaviour. In my fury, I cared little if the lashing of my tongue caused her to be ostracised, well knowing the situation would only be temporary. The power she wielded as Emmett's wife and a leading member of my father's household meant that few members of society would dare to criticise or condemn her . . . to her face.

If I had my way, she would have received a thorough chastisement for her cruel and dangerous action. But that was Emmett's decision to make, not mine. Considering the way Rosalie had him wrapped around her little finger, it was highly unlikely to occur.

While that thought in the forefront of my mind, I watched my cousin approach, as he forced his mount through the ogling crowd. More determined than ever to protect Bella from the curiosity and unwelcome advances of my house guests, I made sure her head was tucked in against my shoulder, her lovely face hidden from view.

Emmett took in the scene—Rosalie furious and set apart by the crowd, the servant in my arms, though he would not have been able to ascertain her identity, and the injury to my leg—and responded accordingly, demanding to know what had occurred.

"Why don't you ask your _wife_ , Emmett?" I replied, breaking the unspoken rule that existed between us and refusing to ignore Rosalie's behaviour for his sake any longer.

While we had never spoken of the events that had led to his unfortunate betrothal, Emmett was no fool, except where Rosalie was concerned. He knew full well he was her second choice, but he'd courted her regardless. As if that wasn't bad enough, the man I counted a friend as well as family had done the unthinkable and fallen in love with the woman he would eventually marry. It was the height of folly for one of our station to do so and the height of misfortune that the object of his profound desire and affection was one such as Rosalie. The lady was the epitome of Society's image of perfection with the most noble of bloodlines . . . and ice in her veins. Any hint of passion had been well and truly bred out of her, just as a disproportionate sense of entitlement and superiority and an acute aversion to physical intimacy had been well and truly drummed in.

I pitied Emmett his emotional attachment to a woman who was intrinsically unable to return his affection. Love made one weak and had no place in the marriage bed, and I would not be making the same mistake as my cousin.

After directing Emmett to lead the hunt, I strode away with Bella in my arms, eager to escape the scrutiny of the crowd and see her injuries attended to. There would be talk, no doubt, but my father was well known for his remarkably egalitarian treatment of his staff and tenants, and I was gaining a reputation for following in his eccentric footsteps.

While my actions would make little sense to our guests and neighbours, I hoped that they'd interpret the events based upon the public knowledge of my unpopular political leanings. If I was careful in my words and actions from this point, no one need know that Bella was someone of personal significance. But it was hard to hide how I felt. The beast I kept ruthlessly chained behind a façade of gentleman-like civility paced restlessly. The feel of Bella's lithe, feminine form nestled trustingly in my arms brought out the worst of my true nature. The centuries long 'breeding program' undertaken to produce the empire's ruling class had resulted in the current generation of refined, emotionally suppressed females. But the males of my class were a different breed entirely, and I hungered to make her my own. Yet despite the dark passion this particular girl evoked, I could not deny the tenderness that seeing her slight form laid out upon one of my father's chaise lounges aroused within me.

I knelt beside her, annoyed that I was unable to stifle the grimace of pain triggered by the action.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, her eyes fixed on my injured leg as she tried to sit up, clearly unready to do so.

"It's nothing," I murmured, and then attempted to lighten her concern with a mildly teasing approach.

With her safety ensured, I should have left her . . . walked away and not looked back. Anything more would increase the damage I'd already done with my extraordinary reaction to her having been placed in danger. But I stayed. Wanting to reassure her further, I smiled, drinking in the loveliness of her face, still remarkable in its beauty despite her increased pallor. Her wide eyes stared up at me, trustingly, captivated and captivating. Unable to resist, I stroked my fingers along the side of her jaw before cupping her cheek with my hand. Her shy smile and the blossoming of a faint but undeniable blush in her cheeks were my reward. They were also positive proof, despite her obvious intelligence and unusual level of education, it was assuredly _common_ blood that flowed in her veins. With no hope of alliance or ulterior motivation, and even while lying injured and in shock, she was aware of me and responded to my touch. _Her_ passion was neither sublimated by generations of careful breeding and rigorous training, nor was it hidden far below the surface.

 _Knowing_ that she would respond, it was all I could do not to lean down and kiss her then and there. The desire to do so was almost overwhelming. But my conscience, the part that ensured I maintained my veneer of civilisation at all costs, reasserted itself just in time.

Her pale, slender hand rose to where I still cupped her cheek, and I grasped it briefly. In danger of falling prey to inexcusable temptation, I released her and stood, forcing myself to turn away.

After issuing instructions pertaining to Bella's care and safety, and dismissing Henson's concerns regarding my own injuries, I strode from the room. Or that was my intention. Unable to resist, I hesitated at the doorway and turned back for one last look at the girl who, through no overt action or fault of her own, had set my normally well-ordered existence on its head.

"Make sure she's well cared for, Henson. I shall check in later today," I found myself saying words that revealed altogether too much of my inner turmoil. Then finally, I turned and left with a variation on the words from earlier echoing in my mind...

 _Why_ _this girl?_

 _Why_ _now?_

 _Why her?_

The hunt was unaffected by the events preceding and came to a successful conclusion. After thanking the Master of the Hounds and turning Sabre over into my head grooms-man's faithful care, I attended to the guests. In all appearances, I was the attentive host, which couldn't have been further from the truth. My impatience to leave and ascertain Bella's wellbeing—and to see her again—was difficult to hide.

It was to be late in the afternoon before I was finally able to make my escape. Unsure where I would find Bella, I asked Henson to lead the way, as I made one of my rare visits to the kitchens. As a lad growing up in Worthington Hall, I'd been a frequent visitor. But times had changed, though Mrs Harrison, the Head Cook, appeared exactly the same . . . a little broader around the middle maybe. Nanny had always said one should never trust a skinny cook. Mrs. Harrison's cooking ability was, indeed, legendary, and I allowed myself to be briefly side-tracked by one of her hot, apricot tarts.

Then Mrs. Cope led mr to the small, cupboard-like room where Bella lay, still and silent, on a narrow cot.

"Who is watching over her?" I asked in a hushed but determined tone.

"I am, m'lord. I check on her periodically in between my other duties," Mrs. Cope responded, clearly puzzled by my prolonged interest. She had already given me her thanks for 'rescuing the girl,' and clearly thought I was going above and beyond the call of duty—and my realm of responsibility—with my further enquiries.

"You're a busy woman, Mrs. Cope. Between the wedding, the guests staying on, and now the hunt, you have done an exemplary job of keeping the household running smoothly, for which you have my heartfelt gratitude."

My words brought a rarely seen smile to the Head Housekeeper's face, one she did her best to suppress. It left me reasonably confident I had achieved my aim. While I had spoken with all sincerity, I had hopes that her cooperation would now be more easily obtained.

"I would hate to think we might lose the girl due to complications—she did receive a rather nasty blow to the head. So, I think it prudent to have one of the junior members of staff sit with her until we're confident she is out of the woods," I suggested with all solemnity. I would order it done if necessary but hoped not to have to resort to such blatant methods.

"Well, if you think that's necessary, m'lord." Mrs. Cope eyed me curiously but complied. "I shall arrange for young Angela to sit with the girl. She is a thoughtful lass, and they share a room, so they're well acquainted."

"I appreciate your diligence." I nodded my thanks and then stood waiting while Angela was summonsed, determined to see my request-come-order carried out before I left. My preference would have been to sit with Bella myself, but that was out of the question.

Angela, the young, shy girl who served at breakfast, stared at me in awe before bobbing a belated curtsey.

"You will watch her closely and report if you have any concerns?" I asked, my tone firm but kind.

She nodded her head briskly. "Yes, of course, m'lord. Bella's my friend, and I've been worried about her . . . we all have. Thank you so much for rescuing her."

The girl's words ran together in her nervousness, and I hid a smile behind my hand.

"Thank you, Angela. I have complete confidence in you," I assured her.

She stumbled a second curtsey before scurrying to sit beside Bella, fussing with the blanket and taking one of Bella's pale, limp hands between her own.

After one last look at where Bella lay, so small and quiet beneath the coarse grey blanket, I turned and left. I was satisfied I had done all I could but dissatisfied in ways I preferred not to examine.

 **~I~**

 **Oh, I wish I'd fought harder to keep these in the published version! I'm not sure how to add them back in. Maybe just at the end of the relevant chapter with a note like at the top of this chapter, so readers get that it's an addition? Would that be too weird? We do all sorts of things in fanfic that aren't 'done' in publishing (LOL! ... a bit like Bella's behaviour in this story!), but I think a lot of them are great and inventive and make for more exciting and interactive storytelling. :)**

 **Your support is always appreciated and any suggestions are welcom.**

 **xx Elise**


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